#sword racks

[petermorwood]

This feels a little bit cheeky, but you're probably the best-qualified person I have any idea how to get in touch with. Do you have any advice for displaying swords? I'm having my room redecorated and I don't really want to just screw a bunch of hooks into the newly-repainted walls. (I have six, ranging in size from a ~5ft two-handed thing to a small gladius.) Thanks in advance!

How about a floor (or counter / table / sideboard) stand? Like any display rack, make sure its uprights are close enough together to take short stuff like a gladius; bigger swords will be no problem.

Martial arts stores are usually a good place to examine these things IRL, however in the meanwhile here are a couple of examples sourced from this Sword Encyclopedia article.

Here's one from Kult of Athena:

This one is from Reliks:

Most of the racks in those pics are 4-sword and 8-sword; for six swords, you could park something else in the spare slots; a Kingsman-style brolly, for example (not guaranteed bulletproof)...

Or a walking stick that just happens to be a real Irish fighting shillelagh.

Or an umbrella combining the best of both worlds - this one is a "solid stick", which means exactly what it says:

The umbrella mechanism is mounted onto, not in, the stick, giving considerable sturdiness when fending off... Really heavy rain, yes, that's it. And there's no need whatsoever to sharpen the ferrule; a good half-sword grip is more than enough for... Downpours.

Alternately you could get two 3-slot racks, for opposite sides of the room, perhaps?

There's also this sixer from Amazon which, if you're non-Zon, a bit of research might find elsewhere.

Finally if you're up for a bit of carpentry and wood-staining, you could make and fit home-made floor / table feet to a wall rack; several look well suited to this.

HTH!

[rotshop]

player is such a weird bug to me i am so excited for them to actually lose their shit

rbs much appreciated

[evilhorse]

Conan the Barbarian (Volume 4) #17

[fitsofgloom]

"Come now, let's be off! There's a battle in the offing! We've got kingdoms to save and women to love!": "The Sword & The Sorcerer" Fantasy Playset, one of the all-time greatest Rack Toys of the '80s and any other decade. Somehow, and R-rated Fantasy flick garnered a mini-toy line -- including coloring books (!) -- proof of how popular the Sword & Sorcery genre was at that time. I still have this, purchased right off a rack in my local pharmacy. Look at all you get here: Barbarian heroes in loincloths on foot and on horseback, the villainous sorcerer, a wolfman-like foe, glow in the dark weapons, and a castle backdrop facade complete with the titular wizard emblazoned on the door. There were additional sets including monochrome dragons with wings and fins, along with larger rubber monsters in the vein of the "Dungeons & Dragons" series that were scented like kiddie soap. Even the card art is rollicking.

[nexahexagon]

Oh SkyeCraft you are dear to me

Very exciting and fun times! My first server and I’m obsessing over Minecraft again!

[ebbpettier]

i love wayward son but as someone who worked at a renfest his whole childhood (and is desperate to work for one again but money's tight) i have an ULTIMATE NITPICK

[purpleskelet0n]

ULTRAOMENS! turns out I'm a sucker for media with heaven and hell, what do ya know!

just started off as little design exercises but I lobe them....CRACK CROSSOVERS FOR THE WIN!!

additional, unrelated jomens doodle (simple Aziraphale turnaround):

[swan2swan]

I love when you can see exactly what the writers were going for in the war room. No kid's gonna get it, but they did it anyway.

[gurlgallade]

Vaati did the whole "villain follows hero into a sacred place that was inaccessible to them before and gloats as they suddenly have the power and/or knowledge to bring their evil plan to fruition" before Ganon did on the timeline.

But you can't really give Vaati credit for it because I think he did it a lot less intentionally than Ganondorf did.

[ofglories]

[ INTERVENE ] / Arthur ( sorry sonboy, not today. )

|| Reasons to Tackle ; accepting!!

[ INTERVENE ]: sender tackles the receiver to prevent them from attacking another person.

In truth Arthur didn't know when it was that he had begun moving. Not until Merlin's hands were pinning him in place, the mage's voice drawing him out of the pinpoint field of vision his sight had managed to constrict to. The King scowled, struggling against his teacher's hands on his shoulders and chest as he stared past Merlin's mane of hair. Past the shimmering white to dull, abyssal violet as dark as a stagnant pool in a bog.

"Merlin," he started, fighting harder as his instincts screamed to kill.

To take up Excalibur and kill the beast in the form of a man who sat calmly across the meeting tent with a little smile on his face. There was no explaining it, really. Arthur just knew the Emperor of Rome was something that needed to be defeated, to be stopped, to be killed before the madness he saw in those wine-dark eyes took the lives of his people. It was like the urgency he had felt the first time he had seen a glimpse of Vortigern from far away.

A danger.

An evil that needed to be expunged from the very world before he could taint it.

"Release me, Merlin...! That man is...!" A diplomat, the quiet and still logical part of his brain whispered over the screeching of his instincts.

It sounded awfully like Kay, Bedivere, and Merlin all at once.

[turtshell]

the ever amazing @battle-nexus gifted me the attack of the mousers comic and i owe them my life, and my final 2003 figure arrived today. this has been one radical cowabunga of a day

[susanoos-wife]

Sword Rack (Katana Kake), ca. 1615–1868

[a-continuous-cutting-motion]

bisexual leviathan cross has symbolism that even i don’t really grasp

New hema jacket patches what up

[alcoholttm]

@castaris asked:

"Wait, have you been drinking?"

"gone...all my hard work," he had a bottle of wine next to him since it was the only thing he found in the kitchen that was readily available for him. he had been spending days on working on a gift for zoro for his birthday and when he got back to get supplies that he needed for his little creation--the gift was ruined.

he wasn't about to point fingers as to who had done it, for all he knew it was just a freak accident in the workshop but he was still in utter disbelief at the state of the room.

[machinemonstrosity]

INJURED RABBIT | mafioso x reader

WARNINGS - DESCRIPTION OF BLOOD AND WOUNDS , hurt/comfort , survivor x killer , this is strictly the forsaken version of mafioso , no established relationship but you can see where it's headed

a/n - where did all of you people come from on that first post. i'm terrified. hello to you too forsaken fandom.

You don't know how it happened.

You hardly even remember it happening. Everything played out so fast.

The deep gash in your midsection burns in overwhelming pain, your hand having gone numb from trying to press the open wound shut. Everything around you is a blur, vague silhouettes of gnarly trees and broken buildings melting into an unrecognizable haze. Drowned by your shaky sobs and the tightness of your throat, your voice only comes out as an anguished croak.

You can't scream for help, no matter how much you're trying.

Just a moment ago, you were huddled with a group of your teammates, following in your paranoid frenzy as they worked to repair a generator. When the snap of a nearby twig startled the small crowd, you had attempted to flee with them, scrambling onto your feet and breaking into a sprint.

Until you felt something sharp snagging your shirt, pulling you backwards and tearing your side open.

Shot with adrenaline, you ran until you were panting in exhaustion. Chest heaving with each breath, your legs eventually gave out, collapsing in a patch of dried grass. As the dull ache in your side intensified to a constant piercing sting, the realization finally sank in:

You're professionally lost. And losing blood. Fast.

By now, your teammates must've been dead or far away from wherever you had landed yourself in. Howling wind and indistinct rustling replace their hushed whispers and careful footsteps, although it's hardly audible through your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

At least, aside from the ones you're hearing right now —

Wait.

Footsteps?

Despite your consciousness hanging by a thread, you try to squint your eyes to gauge the incoming person. Black spots dance around your vision as a testament to your injury, a strained cough racking your weak body while you try to contort it.

Your heart drops to your stomach the moment you manage to view the well-dressed figure.

Of all the killers it could've been, why did it have to be Mafioso?

His reputation preceded him; a ruthless mobster who wouldn't hesitate to knock out teeth if he didn't get what he wanted. Accompanied by his loyal henchmen, every story you heard about him never ended well, brandishing a killcount rumored to be in the hundreds.

It'd be no shock if he was the one who incapacitated you, now returning to snuff out the pitiful bloodied heap he'd reduced you to.

You struggled to wriggle away as he paced closer, not caring if your fate had already been sealed at this point. Somehow, managing a final defiant wail, your eyes screwed shut, praying that you magically bled out on the spot before he drew his sword.

But, strangely enough, it never happened.

Instead, you're suddenly enveloped in warmth, the smell of lingering cigar smoke filling your nostrils.

“C'mere, sweetie. Ain't anyone seen how ya look right now?”

Lifted into his large arms, Mafioso grunts in disapproval at your sorry state.

… This wasn't how the stories went. You should've been a headless corpse by now.

Confused, you try to peel an eye open, only to get nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

“Don't keep lookin’ at that nasty wound,” he murmurs, “jus’ stay awake for me.”

A part of you wanted to argue. To kick and scream with your nonexistent energy to let you go, to yell that you'd rather die alone than in the hands of the cruel mafia. Yet there was none of that in his demeanor. He was acting so soft, gently carrying your hurting form as if you were a piece of fragile porcelain. Nothing gave you the impression that he wanted to hurt you.

A point further proven by how gracefully you're being placed down on the nearest elevated flat surface.

You felt like you weighed a thousand pounds. Faintly catching the clip of a box being cracked open, two gloved fingers work on carefully lifting your torn shirt to expose your gash. You wince upon the bandage wrappings touching the tender flesh.

“I know it hurts, I know. But you're doin’ a real good job for me, bunny.”

Hand twitching involuntarily, Mafioso's free one intertwines with yours. The closer he gets to look at the injury he's patching up, the more his brows furrow.

“This ain't look like a cut one of my men woulda done. Didja get caught on a branch or somethin’?”

You hum. Truthfully, you didn't know, but it wouldn't have surprised you. Getting stupidly hurt sounded common, judging by how others tended to describe you.

“Well, ya gotta be more careful,” Mafioso chides, “next time you get hurt, ya go directly to me. Understand?”

At this point, you were too delirious to question why the man who was meant to be hunting you down was saying all of this. Maybe it was better if you didn't. Regardless, you confirm with another broken hum.

“Good bunny.”

To this day, no one believes your story.

You're shortly found in the same spot Mafioso had bandaged you by the last few survivors of his carnage. He was right about how you got injured, according to everyone who saw, having apparently ran off before anyone could catch you.

The general consensus was drawn to you hallucinating in your hysteria, but you know what you saw. And you know what he said.

This probably wasn't going to be your last encounter with the mobster.

[neverendingford]

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